


Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

by DreadNaught13



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadNaught13/pseuds/DreadNaught13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Multi-chapter look at how Keith and Shiro came to meet at the Academy and what happened afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Keith wasn’t entirely sure about this whole Academy thing. Getting pilot training was cool and all, but the sheer amount of rules and regulations and simulations and blahblahblah just didn’t really work for him. It was only his first week and already he was pretty sure he was going to bag the whole thing unless he was allowed in a ship ASAP.

He’d steered clear of others in his class, only working with them when he was ordered to. It hadn’t endeared him to his instructors, but Keith didn’t particularly care what they thought of him. He was here to fly, not to win friends and influence people. 

“Mind if I sit down?” came a voice to his left.

Keith looked up, frowning. No one wanted to sit with him, no one had ever asked and that suited him fine. A young man stood at his elbow, a tray of food in his hands. He was tall, a couple of years ahead of Keith, with dark hair and eyes. Keith recognized the man right away—heck, everyone in the Academy did. 

Takashi Shirogane. The guy was practically a legend. 

Keith lowered his eyes back to his own tray and shrugged, but not before he caught the shocked faces of cadets at other tables. Busying himself by pushing his food around the plate, Keith listened to the sounds of the young man getting settled across from him, his stomach roiling with confusion. What was this guy doing at his table? Why would someone like Shirogane want to sit with a lowly first year? He was the best pilot in the Academy, a cadet that everyone looked up to and emulated. And Keith, well, he wasn’t any of those things.

A hand extended into his field of vision. Keith pulled back, startled.

“I’m Shiro.” The older cadet held his out to shake.

Slowly, as if expecting a trap of some kind, Keith took it. “Keith.”

Shiro smiled. “Good to meet you.”

“Same.” Keith went back to his food, shifting uncomfortably as he felt Shiro’s gaze on him.

“Don’t believe much in small talk, eh?” 

Keith glanced up, staring at Shiro from beneath his bangs. The Academy hadn’t made him cut his hair, something that had surprised—and pleased—him. “I talk when I’ve got something to say.”

Shiro nodded in agreement. At a nearby table, a cadet in Keith’s year was holding court, entertaining others with some ridiculous story that probably only had a passing relation to the truth. Keith had no idea who the guy was, only that he never seemed to shut his mouth. He rolled his eyes as the guy erupted in raucous laughter at his own tale. A huge guy at the loudmouth’s elbow nodded approvingly as he shoveled food into his face.

“Why’d you sit with me?” Keith asked, turning his attention back to Shiro. “I’m not exactly the most approachable person here.” He sent a look at the loud table.

Shiro grinned. “I need a reason?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, most people do.” He’d learned long ago that most everyone had some kind of ulterior motive for doing anything, especially when it came to someone like him. Growing up an orphan had taught him a lot of hard lessons early on.

“Fair enough,” the older cadet said, no offence in his voice. He leaned over his tray, pitching his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard—not like it was an issue with the racket coming from nearby tables. Keith crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“Your flight scores are like nothing I’ve ever seen before—and that’s without training. You’re an instinctive flyer, and you have the potential to be the best pilot this Academy has ever turned out. But I’ll be honest—your attitude could use some work.”

Keith snorted. “You think?”

Shiro pointed a finger in his face, though his expression was amused. “That right there is what I’m talking about.”

Meeting Shiro’s darkly amused gaze, Keith asked, “Well, what are you going to do about it?” It came out as more of a challenge than he meant it to be, his defenses kicking into overdrive. Sometimes he had a hard time controlling his temper, and he came off as a jerk even if he didn’t mean to. 

It didn’t seem to bother Shiro though. The older cadet set his hand back on the table. Cocking his head, Shiro regarded Keith ruefully, a small smile playing about his lips. “I’m going to train you.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our two heroes begin to train together...

Shiro couldn’t say for sure why he had approached the first year cadet with the bad attitude. But for whatever reason, he was glad he had. Because this young man—this Keith—was a revelation. He might be a handful and a pain in the ass l for his instructors or anyone else in authority, but when Shiro looked at Keith, he saw a completely different person.  
He started the young man in hand-to-hand combat training, since that’s where Keith seemed to have the most problems. His ability to work with a team was abominable and he needed work on taking orders. Shiro suspected that the young man’s problem with authority stemmed from his personal trust issues—something Shiro understood perfectly. It was hard to take orders from someone you didn’t respect.  
His goal: earn the young cadet’s respect. He could work on the other things later.  
Shiro stepped into the training simulator to find Keith already there, leaning easily against the wall. He was wearing his padded gear so at least Shiro didn’t have to tell him to suit up. That was promising. It made Shiro more determined to get through to the young man—he was certain that Keith had the capacity to be an excellent soldier, he just needed to learn how to trust his commander.  
“We’re going to spar one on one first. I’d like to evaluate your skills first hand,” Shiro told him, beckoning Keith to follow him to the center of the room.  
Keith shrugged, looking for all the world like he couldn’t care less. He took his place opposite Shiro with a roll of his shoulders. Shiro took his stance, left foot forward, rocking onto the balls of his feet, arms up to protect his face.  
“Ready?” he asked.  
Keith didn’t answer in words, but in movement. He launched himself across the empty space at Shiro, reckless with kicks and punches. Shiro defended automatically, moves drilled into his subconscious so that he doesn’t have to think, just evades and blocks as easily as breathing. Keith was relentless, but impatient, and Shiro knew that all he had to do is wait him out and wear him down.  
“Focus,” Shiro warned the younger pilot. Keith grunted in response and just punched harder.  
Shiro sighed. Keith was the type that needed to be shown, not told. Oh well. He reached out, hands coming inside Keith’s guard to wrap his hands around the back of the cadet’s neck at the base of his skull. Shiro’s fingers interlaced and he pulled Keith’s head forward, shoving the young man’s forehead into his chest. Keith struggled, but he couldn’t get loose. He swung, punches wild, but they only landed on Shiro’s broad shoulders, causing little hurt.  
Keith tried to wiggle his arms between Shiro’s, attempting to mimic the larger man’s hold. No, that won’t do, at all. Shiro rose on the balls of his feet and drove his knee up into Keith’s midsection, once, twice, three times, making sure to put his hip behind it. He heard the breath blast out of Keith, felt his core muscles tighten too late. The younger pilot dropped to his knees, arm going around his middle, coughing as he tried to suck in air.  
Shiro stepped back, giving Keith space. Keith glared up at him through his fall of black hair, red-faced. Shiro smirked.  
“You’re sloppy and in too much of a hurry,” he told the other pilot. “You make mistakes when you rush in. In a team situation, that could get you or someone with you killed.” He offered his hand to Keith to help him up.  
Keith took it. Instead of letting Shiro pull him up, he hauled the older cadet forward, dropping on his back and lifting his legs up to flip Shiro over him. Shiro tucked, rolled, and came to his feet to face Keith, likewise standing.  
“Okay, fine,” Shiro said, shaking his forelock out of his eyes, feeling the excitement of a good fight bubble through his gut. “Let’s do this.”

***

They were in the fighter pilot simulation, Shiro in one sim and Keith in the other. “You ready?” Shiro asked over the comm.  
“Let’s go, old man,” came the snapping response.  
Shiro could practically feel the energy bleeding out of the younger pilot; it crackled in the air between them. “I’ll make you eat those words,” he said with a grin.  
“You can try.”  
The simulation showed them the limitless black of space. Earth rotated beneath them, a blue-green jewel spinning in infinity. Shiro took a moment to enjoy the view, simulation though it was; it didn’t keep it from being any less beautiful. He couldn’t wait to graduate and get out into the real thing.  
“You planning on actually doing something or are you gonna vegetate?”  
In response, Shiro fired at the younger pilot. It was a warning shot, but Keith was already evading, putting his ship through a series of maneuvers guaranteed to make a lesser pilot lose control over the craft or puke. Possibly both. Shiro hit the throttle and took off after Keith, determined to get a lock on the younger pilot.  
It turned out to be a much harder prospect than he expected. Yes, he’d told Keith that he had potential to be the best pilot the Academy had ever seen, but seeing him in action was something else. Instinctive didn’t begin to cover it. Shiro had never seen a pilot more in tune with his ship; there seemed to be no time between Keith’s reactions to Shiro’s blasts and his ship’s response.  
He chased after Keith’s fighter, expecting the rookie pilot to continue to evade him. So it was a shock when Keith slewed his ship around and fired straight at the incoming ship.  
“Sonuva—” Shiro cursed, pulling up on the controls to gain distance from Keith. He thought he heard a delighted chuckle over the comm.  
Keith wasn’t letting him go easily. He pulled up as well, matching acceleration. Shiro felt his sim-ship shudder as Keith fired. Gritting his teeth, Shiro changed direction. He leveled out, going into a roll, but Keith had anticipated his maneuver and was waiting for him.  
“Missile lock,” the younger pilot said, satisfaction coloring his voice. “Gotcha, Shiro.”  
The older pilot grinned at the pride in Keith’s voice. He was more alive in the fighter than Shiro had ever seen him in the times they’d trained together outside of the simulator. “Nice job.”


	3. Chapter Three

Keith sat on the roof, legs swung over the side and into space, leaning back on his hands. He tipped his head back, staring at the stars where they wheeled above him, looking by turns so far away and just barely out of his reach. Tonight was a “so far away” night. He wondered if he’d ever get out of Garrison, if he’d ever see the inside of a real cockpit.

Today had been bad. Keith wasn’t an idiot; he knew what the brass thought about him—he’d heard it in all of his reviews, all of the disciplinary meetings. Excellent pilot, problems with authority. Hotheaded, short-tempered, bad attitude, smart-mouthed, punk kid. Too bad he could outfly everyone in his class with one hand tied behind his back. His performances had forced the Garrison to alter the simulator programs to keep him challenged. Keith suspected that was the only reason they still kept him around.

Well, perhaps not the only reason…

As if thinking about the young man was enough to call him forth, Shiro stepped onto the roof. Keith didn’t turn around but he felt the pilot’s presence like a breath of wind along his skin. It was like just being in Shiro’s proximity calmed him down, made all the nervy twitches and angry impulses just settle down to quiet. No one else had ever done that for him—not the matrons at the orphanage, not any of the few foster families he had. 

In the year that they had been training together, Keith had discovered something that surprised him.

Shiro was worth listening to.

Which made it really hard when he heard the rumors circulating about them all over the barracks. That Shiro was bumping up Keith’s scores, that the pilot was playing favorites, that Keith was getting preferential treatment because he got down on his knees and sucked cock like a champ, that Shiro was endangering his career for a bit of trashy strange, that Keith was playing whore for the entire High Command.

He didn’t care about the rumors about himself—hell, he’d been called much worse than a whore before breakfast with one of his foster families. Keith knew none of what anyone passed around as fact was actually true. He didn’t want to fuck anybody, and that was the way it had always been for him.

But Shiro, well, Shiro was pure. He was good. And to hear people running their mouths about someone that honest, someone that caring… it made Keith want to beat the hell out them. Shiro was the only person in this whole shitty place who understood who Keith was and didn’t judge him for it, who accepted him as he was. That was a rare find in anyone, let alone a soldier of Shiro’s caliber. 

“Thought I’d find you up here,” came Shiro’s voice, still halfway across the roof.

Keith still didn’t turn. He swung his legs over the drop. He didn’t want to look at Shiro yet, didn’t want to meet his disappointed gaze. The pilot would have heard that Keith had gotten dragged before the disciplinary committee again, this time for mouthing off at one of the instructors during pilot instruction. Keith had tried to keep quiet, but the guy kept calling on him, kept pushing him for his opinion. 

So Keith had given it to him. 

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have said the man had the piloting skills of a rhesus monkey and then apologized for insulting rhesus monkeys everywhere. The class had dissolved into laughter and the instructor had turned bright red with embarrassment, especially when Keith went on to destroy his theory with an even, measured argument.   
Garrison thought he was just a hotheaded, instinctive pilot, but Keith worked hard. He studied. He read anything he could get his hands on: flight manuals, strategy, histories of the great aerial dogfights, ship schematics, mechanics—whatever interested him. Flying fascinated him. Shiro had even lent him some of his advanced fighter pilot manuals when Keith demolished everything in his year.

“I heard about the Kerberos mission,” Keith said instead. “Congrats.”

The heavy thump of Shiro’s boots reverberated through the roof and into Keith’s body. The man hadn’t learned stealth and he walked like he was stomping through the parade grounds. Keith hid a wince.

“Thanks,” Shiro said, lowering himself down to sit beside Keith.

“When do you leave?”

“Not for six months.” Shiro leaned his head back to stare at the stars. “It takes time to prep for a mission that far out.”

Keith nodded, eyes on the toes of his boots. He soaked in Shiro’s calm steadiness like a balm. He didn’t want to talk about anything, content to sit in silence and soak in the older pilot’s presence. Shiro grounded him in a way he’d never felt before. It would be hard in Garrison when he left.

“Keith, you need to promise me something.” 

The cadet felt more than saw Shiro turn his head, felt the heat of his regard. He managed not to hunch his shoulders, but just barely. He hated being stared at—it made him uncomfortable, twitchy. It was a threat. Keith’s fingers twitched, instinctively wanted to wrap around the handle of his knife. He balled his hand into a fist.

“What?” His voice was even, so level a plane could take off and land on it.

“Don’t listen to what anyone says about you.”

Keith looked up, startled. Had Shiro heard the rumors floating around the barracks about them? Had he heard the rumblings from the higher ups? He felt his cheeks heat, ashamed that Shiro, of all people, would have that inflicted on him. 

“I never do.” He shook his head. “And besides, why do I care what some teenagers with overactive imaginations think about me anyway?”

Shiro laughed, his teeth shocking white against the darkness of the night they were wrapped in. “You’re a teenager yourself,” he told Keith, gently mocking. 

Keith sniffed dismissively. “Only in age.” He felt much older than the rest of the cadets in his class—a bunch of pampered children that had grown up knowing nothing of want.

“Fair enough.” Shiro’s hand landed on Keith’s shoulder, a heavy weight that Keith shored up beneath. “I didn’t mean them. I meant the Garrison people.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, eloquently nonverbal in his ability to communicate his disdain. Shiro huffed out a laugh, making Keith smile in response. “Since when do I listen to them anyway?”

Shiro dropped his hand from Keith’s shoulder, and the younger pilot put his own hand there, chasing the other man’s warmth. Frowning, Shiro explained, “Their job is to turn out soldiers. One size fits all. Questioning and initiative and original thinking isn’t exactly lauded. And those are some of your best traits. I’d hate to see you lose them.”

Warmth blossomed in Keith’s chest, chasing away the chill of Shiro’s words. This felt like goodbye even though they still had months before Shiro’s departure for Kerberos. But he’d be back and Keith would be waiting. He’d even have beat Shiro’s high score in the training sims by that time.

“I won’t,” he assured the other pilot.

“Good.” Keith could hear the smile in Shiro’s voice.

They sat in silence, soaking in the cool night air and the stars carpeting the sky above them. Shiro shifted to lay flat on his back, the back of his head pillowed on his hands. Keith stayed where he was, palms flat against the roof. He was conscious of the heat of Shiro’s body beside his. It felt good, comfortable. 

Safe.

The clarity of his feelings hit him like a thunderbolt. This was the only man he’d take orders from. This was the only man who deserved his allegiance.

Finally he spoke. “Does it bother you,” Keith began, his words tentative. He felt knotted up, afraid of what Shiro might say, of his response, “what the other cadets say about us?”

He waited a beat, slanting his gaze at Shiro, staring at him out of the corner of his eye. The pilot rolled over onto his side, head propped up on his hand, elbow digging into the roof. He gazed at Keith, a half-frown pulling down one side of his mobile mouth. His eyes were very dark.

“Envy is an unpleasant emotion,” he said, voice soft, words a gift. “And it’s as common as sand in a place like this.”

Keith blinked, confused at the meaning in Shiro’s words. “So it doesn’t bother you? That it could affect your career?”

“I know who we are. I know who you are. You’re my friend and I’m proud to call you that. The rest of them can go hang.” He smiled up at Keith, the corners of his eyes crinkling into commas. 

“Oh,” Keith said, smiling as well. “Okay.”

Shiro's shoulders began to shake and the man ducked his head. Keith turned to him, alarmed. "Shiro, what is it?"

The pilot lifted his head, hilarity splashed across his face. "Rhesus monkeys? Really?"

Keith put his hand to Shiro's face and pushed him away, but gently. "Shut up."


	4. Chapter Four

Shiro searched the Garrison grounds for Keith. It was late, well past lights out, but Shiro knew the rules would be bent for him. It was his last night before he left for Kerberos. Busting him for an infraction like that at this stage would be useless. 

His going away party had lasted longer than Shiro had expected. Keith had been there at first—everyone in the barracks had been in the commissary at the mere mention of a party—but Shiro had lost sight of him in the sea of cadets that surrounded him to wish him luck, pat him on the back, and shake his hand. It had been a couple of hours into the party when Shiro had looked up and realized that Keith was nowhere to be found. He’d been forced to wait for the celebration to wind down before he could go hunting for the cadet.

Shiro’s heart thudded in his chest when every place he searched came up empty. Keith’s room, the bathroom, the training room, the simulator, the hangar—all of his usual haunts failed to yield the younger pilot. He couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to Keith, couldn’t be gone for almost a year without seeing his friend one last time before he took off.   
There was one place he hadn’t checked, the place that Keith fled to when the noise and clatter of the Garrison barracks became too much, when the constant press of people began to grate on the young man’s nerves. The roof.

Shiro headed up, forcing his body not to rush, despite the pounding urgency of his heart. Pushing open the door, Shiro’s sharp eyes scanned the flat expanse, lingering on the sweep of stars above him. Tomorrow, he’d be up there with nothing tethering him to earth anymore.

But tonight, he was here.

Shiro walked slowly to the edge of the roof that afforded a great view of the sky and a desert butte, a darker blot against the deep night sky. Keith sat, leaning back on his hands like he always did when on the roof, his dark head tilted upwards. Smiling, Shiro made his way over to him, staring down at him until Keith opened his dark blue eyes to look at him.

“You didn’t stay at the party,” Shiro said, a grin twisting one side of his mouth up.

Keith made a sound like a snort and sat up straight. “I’m surprised you noticed. You were mobbed.”

Shiro wanted to tell him that he always noticed where Keith was concerned. Keith was important. He couldn’t define why or when it happened, he just knew. Keith was as necessary to his life as air, as water, as flying. 

Instead, Shiro shook his head. “Too damn many people,” he told him.

Keith gave him a tentative smile. “You got that right.” He tilted his head. “You should get some sleep.”

Shiro chuckled. “You sound like me.”

“I learned from the best,” Keith answered mildly, shifting his gaze back out to the landscape stretching out before them.

Shiro’s heart lurched in his chest, amazed—once again—at the gift this promising young pilot had given him. He’d earned Keith’s respect; more importantly, he had his trust. He vowed that he would never do anything to make the young man regret it. Keith was a wonder.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t worried about how Keith would fare while he was gone. The young pilot was still volatile, even if he’d managed to curb most of his attitude toward those in charge. Shiro hoped Keith would be able to navigate the Garrison without his presence every day. He knew Keith could do anything he set his mind to if he wanted it bad enough. The young man was relentless.

Dropping down to sit beside Keith, Shiro pushed in close enough that their shoulders touched. Keith’s glanced over, watching him out of the corners, then his gaze trained back on the sky. But he didn’t move away.

“I’m going to miss you,” Shiro told him, butting his shoulder into Keith’s.

“It won’t be long,” Keith said, but his body went taut, like a violin string wound too tight. “And when you get back I’ll be able to go with you on your next mission.” 

Shiro swallowed. He felt the faint tremble move through Keith’s frame. “Keith . . .”

Keith rose to his feet, graceful as ever even with his economy of motion. The young pilot wasn’t showy, didn’t waste movement or energy on grandstanding or trying to impress anyone. He was also painfully introspective and didn’t like sharing his feelings with anyone. Shiro had thought that he, at least, had gotten past Keith’s walls, but perhaps he was wrong.

“I should go to bed,” Keith said, taking a step away.

Shiro stood, towering above the younger pilot. He reached out and caught Keith by the wrist. “Keith, what’s going on?”

Keith bowed his head, a strange, trapped squeak escaping his lips. Shiro raised his eyebrows, surprised to feel that the young pilot was shaking. Tightening his grip to ground Keith, Shiro waited.

Suddenly Keith threw himself at Shiro, slamming into him in a tight hug. Keith barely touched anybody unless it was a combat simulation, so Shiro’s eyebrows flew higher. Unconsciously, Shiro brought his arms up, hugging back. Keith clutched him tightly, forehead pressing tight into Shiro’s chest. 

When he spoke his voice was muffled. “Just be careful, Takashi. I can’t lose you too.”

Shiro stood stunned. Keith had used his first name. Keith never called him by his first name. Shiro squeezed the young man gently, reassuringly. He knew that Keith had been orphaned, had read the file the Garrison had on him. Shiro had never pressed Keith to talk about his past, and Keith had never offered. But now Shiro almost wished he had.

“I’ll be back,” he said, letting his smile creep into his voice. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Keith gave one final squeeze of his own before pulling out of Shiro’s arms. He stared up, eyes wide and dark, as if searching Shiro’s face for something. Then he nodded once, as if he’d found what he’d sought. 

“Good luck then,” Keith said, and he snapped into the smartest Garrison salute that Shiro had ever seen. Before Shiro could think to respond, Keith had turned to go inside.

Shiro saluted Keith’s retreating back, a smile on his face and more at peace than he’d been the whole day.


	5. Chapter Five

Pilot error.

Pilot _error_.

_Pilot_ error.

_Pilot error_.

No way. No fucking way.

Keith knew it in his bones, knew it like he knew the sky was blue, like he knew space was cold, like he knew fire was hot. These were immutable, these were truths. Another truth: the Kerberos mission hadn’t failed due to pilot error. Shiro was the best pilot Garrison had, outside of Keith—who was on track to beat all of Shiro’s records. There was no way, no way in Hell, that Shiro had made an error.

Someone was lying.

Keith hated being lied to. He didn’t understand the reason behind the concept, much like he didn’t understand verbal subterfuge. He preferred straightforward conversation. The only time he engaged in duplicity was in a fight—feints, misdirects, evasions. These things he understood at a fundamental level and he used them to his advantage in the air and on the ground. He just couldn’t figure out a way to make it translate to social situations. That’s why he’d appreciated Shiro’s friendship. Shiro never lied to him and accepted Keith as he was. Keith hadn’t realized just how much he’d come to rely on that until Shiro wasn’t there anymore.

At first, it was just Shiro being away on the mission. Keith could handle that. He just threw his frustration and the low level burn of anger at the core of him into training. He stayed in the training room until he was so exhausted by hand-to-hand sparring he couldn’t see straight. He spent whatever free time he had in the simulators, flying every possible mission available. His scores continued to climb. He studied and read until his eyes burned and the words blurred on the page. His instructors praised his singular focus. Soon it was his name at the top of the leader board.

Keith had to make Shiro proud. He’d made the man a promise.

Then came word that the Kerberos mission was lost. And the damning excuse Garrison gave.

Pilot error.

Keith may have been lousy at lying himself, but he could always tell when he was being fed bullshit. And Garrison was currently trying to feed him a whole heaping helping of it.

When word of the lost mission came down, the Garrison grounds were hushed. Keith thought it was like walking around in a tomb, which he thought was kind of fitting since the Garrison High Command seemed pretty intent on burying whatever had happened out there. Cadets spoke in whispers, afraid of getting caught speculating by their instructors. No one could believe that Takashi Shirogane had screwed up that badly.

Keith didn’t join in the speculation of the other cadets. He didn’t need to wonder—he knew. Shiro hadn’t screwed up. So why were they saying he did? That’s what Keith wanted to know.

He started small, creeping around the base, trying to listen in on conversations between instructors in the hopes they’d let something—anything—slip. Now his ability to be easily overlooked came in handy, although because of his simulation scores he didn’t have the anonymity he’d had before. When that didn’t lead to anything useful, he took to sneaking into offices, rifling through files, searching for some kind of answer to his question. He stopped sleeping regularly. Food held no interest for him. He skipped as many classes as he could before getting disciplined in the hopes of ferretting out some reason behind the lies. The singular focus Keith brought to flying he brought to this as well.

It still got him nowhere. The burn of anger inside of him grew, became a forest fire and scorched him. Nothing helped. Keith’s promise to Shiro meant nothing because what did it matter when the man had been given up for dead by everyone else. Everyone except Keith anyway. The cadets all moved past the curiosity and concern—now Takashi Shirogane’s name was a cautionary tale rather than an inspiring one.

The rage burst into conflagration during a pilot simulation one day, perhaps four months after the Kerberos mission was given up for lost. Keith had climbed into the sim’s cockpit with his team for the mission, but not before he heard Iverson, who’d come to observe the proceedings, say to the gathered cadets, “Don’t think of these flights as simulations. You should take these trainings as seriously as if you were on a real mission. We don’t want another Kerberos on our hands.”

Keith’s body locked up for the barest of moments before he stalked to the chair. He buckled himself in with hands that shook, the force of his fury almost too much for him to control. He inhaled slowly, feeling his lungs fill like balloons, then exhaled even slower. His face and chest felt hot, but his hands and feet were like ice in his gloves and boots.

He pulled on the stick sharply, sending the craft into a steep climb, ignoring the startled shouts of his team. _Piloterrorpiloterrorpiloterror_ rocketed through his skull, a litany of shame and guilt and loss that made Keith want to tear apart the universe with his bare hands until he found the one thing that made sense to him.

Shiro was gone.

He shoved the stick forward, sending the sim-ship into a dive. Screams of “What are you doing?” and “Have you gone nuts?” echoed in his ears, but Keith didn’t care to listen.

They wanted pilot error? He’d show them pilot error.

He smashed the craft to pieces.

“Kogane!” Iverson’s voice crackled over the speakers inside the simulator. “What in the name of the sweet baby Jesus do you think you are doing?”

Pulling his helmet from his head, Keith unbuckled himself and rose to his feet. The rage was still there, like lava flooding his veins, but it wasn’t as overwhelming. It warmed him now. He’d been unable to say anything, do anything to defend Shiro in the past months, but he could do this. He’d learned all he cared to from Garrison anyway.

The doors to the simulator slid back revealing Iverson and the instructor. They both glared at Keith, expressions furious, but Keith was past caring.

Dropping his helmet at Iverson’s feet, Keith snarled, “That’s what pilot error looks like.” He took a step past them, before turning around to add mockingly, “Sir.”

Keith strode out of the sim door without a backward glance.

He was booted from Garrison within the hour.


	6. Chapter Six

The shack wasn’t much, but it _was_ shelter and Keith didn’t have it in him to be picky. He’d slept in worse places. Truth was, all of the open, empty space was a relief after the day-to-day closeness of life at Galaxy Garrison. He spent his first night as a wash-out just sitting in front of the little wooden shack, staring up at the stars and wondering where Shiro and the rest of the Kerberos crew might be.

He didn’t regret his outburst. Yeah, he probably could have done some more snooping around Garrison, but they were being uncommonly tight-lipped about things, so Keith doubted he would have found anything out. Even if he had stayed until graduation, there was no telling if they’d send him out on a mission to that area of space anyway. Kerberos took months to get to—with this mission being a wash, he suspected the High Command wasn’t likely to send another for a very long time. If he was going to find anything out, it was going to have to be on his own.

He wrapped himself in a sleeping bag and wondered just how big the universe was and in how many places he’d have to search before he found Shiro again.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” Keith whispered, vowing to whatever stars might be listening that he would find him.

***

Keith had his hoverbike—bought at a junkyard with his Garrison checks and refurbished in one of the hangars during his downtime. He had some money saved up too, enough to make a dent on the repairs to the shack to make it habitable, and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. He took odd jobs in town when he needed the cash and was able to purchase a generator and camp shower so he could live in relative peace and comfort.

But he still had a lot of time to fill. Thoughts of Shiro simmered at the back of his mind, unable to let him be. His restless nature and his knowledge that he’d been lied to made it impossible to truly forget about the Kerberos mission. In an effort to try and exhaust himself, to try and find some kind of peace, Keith spent days exploring the desert.

At first it was just familiarizing himself with his surroundings, a way to keep his mind occupied. He missed flying something terrible—the closest he came to it now was racing his hoverbike across the dunes and over the cliffs. It was the only thing he regretted about leaving the Garrison behind, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to the loss of Shiro.

That’s how his forays into the desert started, as a way to calm his spinning thoughts. Being without Shiro’s steadying presence was like being without a limb—like something so fundamental to his existence was gone, lost. Keith’s whole body ached with its absence. He felt cast adrift, nothing to anchor him anywhere. He had to find a way into space.

Feeling aimless, he searched until something pulled him deep into the desert cliffs. Keith couldn’t explain it, even to himself, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts. Something was out there, something that wanted to be found, that wanted _him_ to find it. He didn’t know what it was, or how to make sense of the strange energy he felt in the caves and cliffs and weird rock formations that he was called to over and over again. All he knew is that it resonated inside of him and he had to figure out what it was.

He didn’t know how many times he thought to himself, ‘What would Shiro do?’ It was like a mantra, a mala, a prayer forever running inside of his head. Keith worked and scraped by and still Shiro was in his head, the invisible presence by his side, arguing for patience, for focus.

“Don’t go too far beyond me,” Keith whispered to the cliffs, knowing he was close to something.

***

Months passed. Keith eked out a living, always returning to the cliffs, mapping the energy he found there. Shiro’s presence was with him, like a ghost, a phantom he couldn’t see or touch but was nonetheless as real as anything else. He wondered a few times if he was going insane, if the vast, empty wastes of the desert had driven him mad. Shiro was gone, lost on the Kerberos mission.

Then why did Keith feel like he was still alive? Why did he think—no, _believe_ —that he would see Shiro again? He couldn’t explain it, just like he couldn’t explain the lion carvings or the energy that jolted along his nerves, that made him feel a little bit like he was still flying in a cockpit.

Keith turned all of that focus on figuring out what was going on. Garrison was useless, too caught up in their own politics and regulations to even consider something this strange, and he didn’t have any friends he could depend on. He’d barely been on speaking terms with most of the other cadets in his year. It was up to him.

He brought all of his skill to bear on the problem, attacking it from every angle. Drawings, photos, maps, and graphs soon littered the main room of his shack, which had somewhere along the way turned into a comfortable living space. As he worked, Keith felt the energy spiking, twisting inside of him, telling him that something was coming, that something was happening. He wished for the millionth time that Shiro was there to bounce ideas off of. Shiro would listen.

“What am I missing?” Keith asked to an empty room.

***

Keith was working on his hoverbike. The sun had gone down, taking the heat of the desert with it. He worked by lantern light in the cool, still evening. He loved the nights out here, the way the stars spread out like an umbrella overhead. Tonight was a _close enough to touch_ night, so when he was finished with the tune-up, he sat back on his hands beside the bike, content to stare up at the stars. A cool breeze ruffled his hair. It felt very much like any of the nights he’d spent up on the roof with Shiro.

Before he could get too melancholy, the energy he’d been feeling almost constantly these days spiked, splashing through him in a red haze. At the same time, he noticed something burning its way through Earth’s atmosphere. He grabbed his scope for a look.

It was a ship. Like none he’d ever seen.

The energy urged him up, to move, to meet it. Without stopping to think about it, he jumped onto his bike and took off, eyes on the falling ship, mind already working out a rough estimate of where it would land. It wouldn’t be too far away from where he was now. He set off, instincts telling him he had to hurry, that whatever was in that ship was important.

_Don’t go where I can’t follow_.

***

The distraction had worked like a charm. The guards were easy to take out. Keith slammed into the outpost like a whirlwind, only stopping when he stood before the table where the ship’s passenger lay unconscious.

Tugging down his bandana, Keith stared, eyes huge in his pale face.

The man before him was familiar, yet not. Body was bulkier, with more muscle mass. Scar across the bridge of his nose. Cropped hair with a white forelock. But Keith would know that face, that form anywhere. Keith’s heart swelled in his chest, stealing breath and words and all thought except one.

“Shiro?”

Shiro was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments. I hope you have enjoyed the story. I have an idea for a story taking place after the wormhole shenanigans, and I will be posting that here shortly. More Keith and Shiro, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Just trying to fill in some backstory based on interactions after watching the first season of Voltron: Legendary Defenders. Noodling around so I'm not sure where I am going with this.


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